Long Summer Nights

by Aharon Appelfeld

  37

  The cannons thunder. The stream of wanderers on the way to Saint Mary does not cease.

  “What should we do? How can we help? You make things easier for one of them, and dozens pass by alongside you, injured and wounded.”

  Grandpa Sergei believes that a true warrior’s strength flourishes and grows when all seems to be lost.

  “Grandpa Sergei, I don’t always feel strong.” Yanek didn’t hide his apprehension.

  “Because we’re not connected to God all the time. The moment God plants the feeling of justice in it, our strength increases. ‘Fear not and be not afraid,’ God says to Joshua, and so says He to all fighters for justice.”

  Usually Grandpa Sergei is turned inward, but on some days his speech is as strong as his silence.

  The sky is cloudy, but no rain is falling. Yanek, in any event, is prepared for any trouble that might come. Meanwhile he found a thick tree whose branches are spread densely, and they sat beneath it. Dry branches were not lacking in the forest. Yanek gathered them and made a fire. The fire immediately gives a feeling of a place you can return to.

  Yanek doesn’t take his eyes off the main trail leading to Saint Mary. The bullies recognize him from far away, and when he goes down and approaches the trail, they flee. Yanek doesn’t run after them. He sits and surveys the area. Most of the pilgrims to the monastery are wanderers. Some of them are also householders who are making a pilgrimage to the monastery of Saint Mary to pray and ask forgiveness for their sins.

  Suddenly Prince is standing before Yanek’s eyes, and the pain of his disappearance returns to him. The few days he was with them are stored up in his body. Since he disappeared, Yanek has been yearning for him.

  When he returned from the driving off the bullies, he found Grandpa Sergei covered with blood. Once again two ruffians had attacked him Grandpa Sergei wrestled with them, knocked them down, but before he did that, they managed to scratch him. Yanek washed his face with a cloth and put iodine on the scratches.

  Grandpa Sergei didn’t complain. He just said, “They took advantage of my blindness, and they’ll give an accounting to God for that.”

  Suddenly a boy of about seven approached them, looked at them, and asked, “Who are you?”

  “My name is Yanek.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “I punish the bullies who attack wanderers, cripples, and lepers.”

  “Do you do that by yourself?”

  “No by myself, with God’s help.”

  “Can I join you?”

  “Not now. When you grow up.”

  For a long time he stood there, stunned with surprise,and then he went away.

  Yanek feels that the coming days will be difficult. He feels it in his arms and legs. His thoughts don’t disturb him. He has cut himself off from them.

  The following day they left the big tree with the wide top and approached an outlook from which they could see the path to the monastery of Saint Mary.

  “What do you see?” asked Grandpa Sergei.

  “People walking slowly.”

  “A lot of them?”

  “Not so many. Most of them are wanderers.”

  “Is anyone attacking them?”

  “Some bullies are falling upon them and robbing their bundles.”

  Yanek tensed up. Grandpa also grew tense, but he gives no orders. Yanek looks around him quietly, chooses the target, and falls upon it quickly and with great strength. This time he knocked down two large boys. They begged him not to hit them. In the end he ordered them to kneel and ask forgiveness of the wanderers.

  “We ask forgiveness,” they called out together.

  “Not that way.”

  In the end they said, “We ask forgiveness from the people we harmed and from God who ordered us to love every human being.”

  They got mixed up. They didn’t say exactly what Yanek told them to say. Yanek looked at them with contempt and ordered them to repeat the words he had dictated. In the end, when they didn’t manage to do it, he asked them, “Who is the king of the universe?” After a hesitation one of them said, “God.”

  “Correct, and what did He command us to do?”

  “Not to hit and plunder the wanderers.”

  “And now, together: not to hit and plunder the wanderers. Now get out of here slowly and think about what you’ve sworn. And think about what you’ve taken upon yourselves.”

  38

  The next day he again looked at the path leading to the monastery of Saint Mary. The wanderers advanced haphazardly, dragging their feet and pulling their bundles after them. Boys stood on the hills and threw stones at them. In vain the miserable people tried to shield their heads with their coats. The stones hit every part of their body. Yanek dove down and pounced on the ruffians. He managed to slap some of the boys in the face and recover the bundles from them. That day he went down several times. Every time he went down, he understood that his efforts were just a drop in the bucket. The boys were insolent, and the wanderers didn’t even have the strength to flee.

  Yanek understood the situation thoroughly. He went back to Grandpa Sergei, told him the facts, and asked for his advice. Grandpa Sergei wasn’t quick to offer advice. He withdrew into himself, and in the evening he said: “The ways of God are hidden, but we shall do what we are capable of doing.”

  In his sleep, Yanek saw his mother, with a backpack on her shoulders, and she could barely walk. Alongside her was his father, carrying a heavier backpack. Yanek leaped and forced his way through the crowd. He immediately took off their backpacks, removed them from the crowd, took them up the hill, and sat them down next to Grandpa Sergei.

  When he woke up the dream was still clear before his eyes. It was cold, and Yanek quickly lit the campfire. The strength that had built up in him hadn’t faded, and he felt that soon he would do something worthy. What would it be? He couldn’t guess. Enthusiasm such as he had never known throbbed within him. Again he looked at the trail rising to Saint Mary. From the way the wanderers were walking, you could see that they were mustering all their strength to climb up, but this section of the trail was steep and muddy.

  Just then the sun came out, and the sky brightened.

  “What do you see, Yanek?” asked Grandpa Sergei.

  “The wanderers have left their shelters and are climbing up the trail to Saint Mary.”

  “Is anyone throwing stones at them and grabbing their bundles?” asked Grandpa Sergei.

  “They are throwing stones. I’ll go and send them packing,” he said and fell upon the stone throwers.

  His eyes saw a scene clearly: masses of wanderers were on the exposed trail. Gangs of thugs were throwing stones at them. One of them grabbed a wanderer’s pack. The wanderer tried with all his might to save his few belongings, but his efforts were in vain. For a long time he lay on the ground, but the other wanderers walked past him without saying a word. Finally one of them addressed him, saying “Get up. What was seized from you won’t be returned. There’s no point in lying on the ground.” The wanderer didn’t listen to that advice. He stayed prostrate on the ground. Finally he raised his upper body, looked at the indifferent brethren around him and said, “Everyone is concerned only with himself. No one will help you up. When I die, they’ll throw me into a ditch. They won’t bury me.” Thus he sat and muttered to himself. Despair dripped from every word that left his mouth. In the end a wanderer passed by him and said, “Get up. There’s no point in sitting in the middle of the path.”

  “Thugs stole everything from me. I have nothing.”

  “If you sit on the path, will that get it back for you?”

  “I’m amazed by my life, which is on the verge of the abyss. From now on, there’s nothing but death.”

  The other wanderer looked at him and said, “You can also be amazed while you’re standing.”

  Yanek understood: from now on he also had to struggle against the indifference of the wanderers, who had lost the image of God in their wandering.r />
  39

  That day, as we have said, he went down to confront the young men several times. At the end of the day, he was so exhausted that he could barely stand up. Hardly had he sat next to Grandpa Sergei than his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

  In his sleep the voices spoke to him again: “Yanek, don’t despair. Grandpa Sergei trained you for courageous deeds. For the possible and the impossible. You saw your brothers, the wanderers, and they were stricken, plundered, and downcast. You must restore the image of God for them. Without the image, they cannot rise up.”

  “What must I do?”

  “You must do what your heart commands you to do.”

  “I’m exhausted.”

  “So it seems to you. Great powers are stored up within you.”

  When he awoke, dawn had already risen. Grandpa Sergei was still sleeping. Yanek stirred up the campfire, buried a few potatoes in it, and put a kettle of water on the coals.

  When Grandpa Sergei had woken up and washed his face, Yanek gave him a cup of tea and lit his pipe. He wanted to tell him what the voices had said, but he didn’t dare. In the end he took courage and said, “Grandpa, the voices spoke to me again last night.”

  “What did they say?”

  “That I had to restore the lost image of God to the wanderers.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Keep those words in your heart. Dreams don’t speak in vain.”

  Yanek gave Grandpa Sergei a roasted potato and a piece of cheese, washed the dishes, arranged the packs and bundles, and at last he said, “Grandpa, I’m going on my way.”

  “May God preserve you.”

  Yanek went out. He didn’t know what the day would bring. He marched empty-handed, but with the vigor of someone who had engaged in physical training for a long time. On the way he saw a piece of metal on the ground: a fragment of a pot or basin. He picked it up and examined it, and it immediately occurred to him to round it into a megaphone. He continued on his way without hurrying. He felt that strength was gathering in the muscles of his arms and shoulders. Those feelings didn’t distract him.

  He advanced slowly. It was noon, and wanderers were moving on the trail, including some cripples on crutches. Boys had gathered on the hills across from them. They weren’t throwing stones. They were chatting, pushing each other, and laughing. That sight made him angry. He approached the trail. Without sensing what he was about to do, he picked up the megaphone he had made, put it to his lips, and shouted, “This is Yanek speaking, the grandson of Grandpa Sergei, a master sergeant in the special unit, who was given medals after many battles. He has authorized me to tell you: there is a limit to humiliation; you must preserve the image of God that has been given to you; do not fear. Fear is our great enemy. It strikes us, and not the stones that ruffians throw. Leave behind the fear that you’re imprisoned in. You’re going up to the holy monastery of Saint Mary, and you mustn’t fear thugs.”

  “Who are you?” called a voice from the crowd.

  “I’m Grandpa Sergei’s grandson.”

  “Who appointed you to preach to us?”

  “I’m not preaching. I want to help you leave the prison where you’re trapped.”

  The boys on the hill, who heard his words, began to throw stones in every direction, hitting several people. Yanek didn’t lose his presence of mind. He swooped down on the boys and knocked down two of them. The others ran off.

  This time he bound the hands of one of the bullies and turned to the wanderers, saying, “You see how easy it is to chase them away. They’re not heroes, just petty robbers. They draw upon pollution. Every wind of justice will knock them over.”

  “Who are you?” The same skeptical voice was heard from the crowd.

  Yanek didn’t get angry. He answered softly, saying, “I’m the grandson of Grandpa Sergei, a warrior experienced in battle.

  “Where did you learn to attack?”

  “From Grandpa Sergei.”

  Now the thunder of the cannons was replaced by the rumble of tank treads. The front was close by, but the mighty movement of steel, didn’t stop the boys from attacking the wanderers again and robbing their bundles.

  Yanek leaped out, hit them with great force, and returned the packs to their owners.

  When he returned from the pursuit, the tone of the wanderers’ voices changed. They raised their eyes to Yanek and asked, “What are we to do?”

  “Arm yourselves with knives and forks or broken glasses. If anyone tries to steal from you, hit them and wound them.”

  This did not put an end to their struggles that day. At night the boys tried once again to hit the wanderers and steal from them. Yanek ambushed them and fell upon them.

  Failure didn’t weaken the bullies’ resolve. They kept climbing up and grabbing bundles and packs.

  Yanek ambushed them again, slapped their faces, and rolled them down.

  This went on for most of the night. The rumble of the tank treads grew closer and closer, and Yanek called out on his megaphone, “You must be patient. The army of rescue is close to us.”

  But, as though out of spite, the engines suddenly fell silent.

  “Where are the saviors? Why aren’t they coming?” A voice was heard from the crowd.

  “They’ve come a long way. Now they’re resting,” Yanek answered.

  Yanek didn’t shut his eyes that night. He helped give water to thirsty people, and for those who were hungry, he asked those who had something to contribute a little bread.

  The people obeyed him. They asked his advice and didn’t conceal from him that they were very frightened about what the next day would bring. Yanek’s advice was: “You have to equip yourself with something sharp. Don’t be afraid. Fear only weakens you. The evildoer senses fear and is bolder.”

  Some of the people wept and wanted to die. Yanek held their hands and their shoulders and said, “You have to be strong now. The Red Army is close to us. They know how to deal with hooligans. They have tanks and cannons.”

  One of the cripples, a man with one leg, said, “For years I’ve prayed to reach the monastery of Saint Mary and ask to be cured. I guess I won’t get there.”

  “You mustn’t be discouraged,” Yanek said to him. “Your father and mother are waiting to see you.”

  “They’re sure I was killed in the great bombing,” said the cripple weakly.

  “Think of them, think of their happiness when they see you alive.”

  40

  Then heavy rain began to fall. They were exposed, and no shelter was visible. Yanek went to look for a place to hide from the rain. He looked for a long time and finally found an abandoned house with half a roof.

  He immediately went back to Grandpa Sergei, took the bundles, and they started off. Grandpa Sergei praised his quickness and alertness. “Even my soldiers wouldn’t have done better than you.”

  The abandoned house was exposed, without windows or a door, but luckily the fireplace was intact. Yanek, without delay, went out to gather firewood. Then he came back and lit the fire. Only now did they see how badly the house was damaged, but the fireplace gave off pleasant heat. Yanek didn’t rest. He came back with many branches.

  In the end he collapsed on the pile of branches, in convulsions. Grandpa Sergei called out, “Yanek, what’s the matter with you?” He knelt next to Yanek and felt his forehead and pulse. The convulsions kept shaking him.

  Grandpa Sergei tried in vain to feed him a spoonful of tea. “Drink, dear, it will do you good.” In the end he wrapped him in his army winter coat and kept urging him to open his mouth and sip some tea.

  Grandpa Sergei remembered there was aspirin in Ya-nek’s pack. He groped in it and found a small metal box, took out a pill, and put it in Yanek’s mouth.

  The fireplace gave off heat. Grandpa Sergei didn’t move from his place. He held Yanek’s hand and whispered to him: “The war is over. You’ll go back home, to your parents. They’re certainly expecting you
. Drink, please. It will make you stronger.”

  Yanek didn’t react. From time to time he uttered a word or a fragment of a sentence. Grandpa Sergei didn’t try to rouse him. He knew that Yanek needed that sleep, but apparently it was sowing bad dreams in him.

  The sleep lasted too long. Grandpa Sergei added some sugar to the tee. Yanek licked his lips. Grandpa Sergei kept talking to him. “Don’t let the dreams frighten you. Sometimes monsters steal into them. Don’t be afraid. Grandpa Sergei is watching over you.”

  Grandpa Sergei watches over his sleep, gives him tea to drink, dries his clothes. From time to time he asks how Yanek is and keeps repeating, “The war is over. Your parents are expecting you.”

  This lasted four days. Yanek didn’t wake up, so Grandpa Sergei decided to speak to him clearly: “You’ve been immersed in a deep sleep for four days already. I don’t know what’s happening to you. Please, dear, come out of the darkness. You know how limited I am. I can’t do anything without you. Both of us will perish in this cold, exposed ruin.”

  Not until the next morning did Yanek open his eyes and ask, “Where am I?”

  “You’re here with me,” Grandpa Sergei answered quickly.

  “I guess I was asleep,” said Yanek, without knowing what he was saying.

  “You slept a lot, four days in a row. I spoke to you. I wanted to know what was happening to you, but you didn’t answer. Your sleep was very quiet, and that also worried me.”

  “Sorry, Grandpa.”

  “It didn’t depend on you. Sleep knocked you down.

  How do you feel now? In a little while I’ll make you a cup of tea. You’re thirsty, dear. Where were you in your sleep?”

  “I was asleep,” said Yanek, and it was clear that he hadn’t woken up completely.

  “You slept deeply.”

  Hardly had the words left Grandpa Sergei’s mouth when Yanek plunged into sleep again. Grandpa Sergei tried in vain to stop him from sinking, but this time the sleep was short, just a few hours.